


Bitter

by Crypticus



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Fluff (light), I just realized all of my titles make absolutely no sense, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Noirham - Freeform, hamnoir - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-20 21:38:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17630120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crypticus/pseuds/Crypticus
Summary: Ham wishes Noir would stop pushing others away — as that can never end well.





	1. Chapter 1

  _Something's wrong._

Peter Porker, or else known as ‘Ham’ was immediately on edge — the warning remaining at the forefront of his mind, as he eyed the room he stood in. 

 It wasn’t often that the swine visited Noir’s universe, but after a disturbingly long amount of time of silence from Noir he had decided to pop by. What greeted Ham– he wasn’t sure what to make of it. The small office Ham was standing in was, simply put, _messy_. Which was so unlike Noir.

  _Sheesh, what happened here?_ The swine picked his way through the papers that littered the floor, casting wary glances around for any hints. His concern for the detective continued to grow as the wads of paper covering the floor seemed to increase as Ham made his way out of the office. “Oi, Peter?” Ham called out, hoping for a response. 

 He didn’t get one.

 Ham’s ears drooped slightly, and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he wasn’t alone.

 He wasn’t... Alone?

 Ham’s breathing picked up ever so slightly, and his hands balled up into small fists. 

 He wasn’t—

_Wasn’t—_

_**Alone**...?_

Ham wasn’t sure of what happened next. He saw a grey blur in his peripheral vision, and then Ham was grabbed from behind. The swine went to grab for his mallet, when all of a sudden he was forcefully turned around then there was a pair of grey eyes glaring at him. 

 Ham stiffened, his arms freezing up when a gravely voice rang out.

 “ _Don’t._ ”

 Ham’s pretty sure his heart skipped a beat or two. 

 He knew who that voice belonged to—

 “Peter?” Ham muttered, staring at the pair of grey eyes which seemed to look at him without actually _seeing_  him. The detective he’d been searching for didn’t respond, although Ham noticed the way Noir’s grip on him loosened for a brief moment. “Petey?” Ham tried again, wincing as the pressure of Noir’s hold on him increased. He tried to wiggle out of the detective grasp, but it was clear that wouldn’t work. 

 A sort of anxiety began to swell in Ham’s chest, as the detective remained silent.

 It was in this moment, that Ham realized he wasn’t looking at Noir...?

 The man holding him _looked_ like Noir, he _sounded_ like Noir, but Ham’s ‘sixth sense’ downright _screamed_ that the person who held him _wasn’t_  Noir. But at the same time, Ham knew it was Noir in front of him, so _why_ —

 “Porker...?”

 Ham’s ears perked up slightly at the familiar voice. “The one and only,” the swine was quick to speak, grinning cheekily behind his mask despite the mixture of emotions that he couldn’t name. “I appreciate the warm welcome, Petey, but would you set me down or—“ The pig couldn’t finish his sentence, as he was suddenly let go. “Ahem, a warning woulda been nice.” Ham groused, though when he looked up at Noir the swine went silent.

  _Oh dear._

* * *

 

 Ham was saying something, but it flew right over Noir’s head. 

 He didn’t mean to be rude, but Noir was genuinely distracted by something else. That ‘something else’ being small, yet still rather dangerous, and he was holding it in his right hand — which was shaking. Noir felt sick, shuddering as bile seemed to rise in the back of his throat. 

 His hands felt clammy under the gloves he wore, and Noir could feel beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face. 

  _I—_ Noir’s thoughts were a jumbled mess, and he let the item in his right hand slip loose. _I almost... Bullet—_

Out of nowhere appeared a hand, waving in Noir’s face. He could see a pair of large eyes looking up at him, and Noir could hear words being spoken. However his hearing was seemingly muffled, and Noir’s eyes widened when his surroundings seemed to change. The floor that was littered with paper turned into cold, cracked cement.

 His breathing picked up, and Noir noticed something that brought upon a fresh wave of dread.

 The hand that was being waved in front of Noir’s face— the red on it seemed _too_  real. 

 Noir felt something akin to a scream build up. He swallowed, hoping to choke it back down— and then the pair of large eyes seemed to shrink, the color morphing into a milky grey. 

 Those round eyes blinked owlishly at Noir. He could see a sort of warmth inside them, and at that something inside of Noir seemed to shake before cracking. Noir faintly registers the dull ache in his legs, when said limbs seem to collapse. There was a crinkle-like noise of the paper that Noir’s knees collided with, and then came the painful snap inside of him.

 The noise that escaped Noir’s mouth was hoarse, and sounded weak to his ears. 

  _Pathetic._

 The thought passed through his mind bitterly, as the detective tried and failed to shut his damn mouth. It was then that Noir registered the fact that his cheeks were wet, and through the short hiccups that came in sporadic bursts he managed to hastily wipe away the wetness with quivering hands. 

 “Peter? C’mon bud, answer me please.”

 Noir’s shoulders tensed, and he just barely managed to choke down the hiccups.

 “Peter?” 

 Noir clamped his eyes shut, breath hitching as he curled in on himself.

 “No, no, Peter— _Peter,_  look at me.” The words spoken to him dripped with concern. A pair of hands gripped his cheeks, and Noir found himself leaning into the touch for a brief moment. His own hands reached up, fingers loosely wrapping around Ham’s wrists.

  _Stop_.

 With that one word ringing in Noir’s mind, he pushed away. “Porker—” his voice was raspy, and Noir winced. “You should... Go.”

 Ham’s response was a sharp, immediate _‘no’._

 Noir shuddered.

  _He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve Ham’s concern, his worry, nor his **care**._

 “Porker— Ham, _please_.” Noir’s voice took on a desperate tone. There was a long moment of silence, before the pig responded. 

 “Fine. But don’t expect me to be gone for long, mister.” His attempt at humor was weak, and Ham sounded so despondent and... Sad?

 A sort of shame unlike anything else grabbed hold of Noir’s heart, crushing it with an overwhelming pressure. The detective went to say something— _anything._

Though it seemed to be too late, as Ham was already gone. 

 Noir was left looking at the now empty space the pig was previously stationed at, his mind wandering back to the welcoming warmth of Ham’s hands on his cheeks.

 He missed it— the sweet touch.. Of someone Noir didn’t, in _any_ way deserve to even know.

  _ **Bitter fool — you’d only hurt him, today proves that.**_

Noir shook his head, heart sinking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I doubt anyone’s gonna like what the ending is lmao. Sorry this was so short— this damn plot ‘n whatnot has been so— fRustraTing. Snort lol. I apologize for any grammar/etc issues, before I continue on with the final chapter of this I’ll be goin’ back and editing the previous works ‘n shit I’ve done because uh.. I swear there were probably so many typos/etc (coughlikeusing’you’re’insteadof’your’causeimanidiotlmaocough)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll have y’all know it’s past 6am and I couldn’t focus for at least 30 minutes because I got a sudden image of Noir being dared to ‘wrestle’ a damn gator... Yah know like, working to tire the gator out ‘n shit— so his coat is just flappin’ around like crazy as he circles ‘em, maybe jumping back to avoid getting bitten or whatever.. And then suddenly managing to bang his funny bone on something and immediately letting loose a stream of crude slang.......
> 
>  
> 
> What am I doing. Um, I blame watching a few episodes of Gator Boys from like years ago. Yeah I’m leaving now bye.

 The world’s crumbling into pieces, Ham’s sure of it.

  _Porker—_

 The grey and black seem to melt, becoming a mere goop that slowly falls down around him.

  _You should... Go._

 His mind is screaming, and Ham’s heart is pounding.

  _You should... Go._

 The ground shakes under the pig’s feet, though he pays the tremors little attention. 

  _You ~~should~~... Go._

  _You s **h** o **uld**... ~~G~~ o._

 Ham’s hands curl into small fists, and theirs something causing a sting in the corners of his eyes.

  _Porker—_

  _ ~~Po~~ rK **e** r—_

  _Go, go, **g** O **—**_

 Ham can feel his entire body trembling. His ears are drooping, and his heart continues to race at a billion miles per second. Something wet drips stains his cheeks, and the ground beneath him never ceases its shaking — rather, it seems to move to the pace of which Ham’s heart is running at.

 Ham continues to for the most part ignore it, his chaotic mind focused on the thoughts running wild throughout his skull. Or, to be more specific, the voice that plays on repeat.

 It’s soft, quiet— then it’s _loud._

_**G ~~o—~~**_ ****

_**Extremely loud**._

Ham wishes it would just shut up—

 That it would just cease to exist, or at the very least—

  _G **O** , ~~**gO—**~~_

 ****. . . At the _very least_ give him some **time—**

Ham’s arms raise against his will, fingers quivering as he claps them against his drooping ears in an effort to shut out the voice. His eyes are shut tight, but the swine is tempted to open them when something flashes in the darkness — somehow crystal clear for him to see.

 It’s a pair of revolvers, held in a loose hold.

 The dangerous items are obviously old, but that’s not what catches Ham’s attention. 

 It’s the gloved hands, which have the revolvers trapped in a weak grasp. The gloved hands lay limp, the black leather ripped along the palms. Ham can see a bit of grey, stained by a caliginous color he doesn’t want to name. And then, suddenly, he’s got something much different from before that he’s seeing—

 A worn, _scarred_ face. 

 The wetness on Ham’s face seem to increase tenfold, but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes.

 He’s trapped, only able to stare at what appears before him. 

 Ham can see dark shades of grey, signifying bruises, that taint a tired yet utterly _gorgeous_ face. 

 A scream builds up in him, when the swine sees a pair of eyes that are closed. He wants them _open—_

 **Not**  gently shut, in that peaceful way— it’s _insulting._ **Mocking** Ham!

 After a moment, Ham manages to focus on something else— something that isn’t that painfully beautiful face, despite showing obvious signs of injuries. He regrets it immediately. The legs and arms of the man with that face are mangled; twisted in so many ways that _shouldn’t_ be possible for a human — regardless of whether they’ve been bitten by some radioactive spider or not.

 The clothes of ruffled, and the flaps of a leather coat move only slightly in a weak breeze.

 The noise from before, the cry that’s been building up in the back of Ham’s throat threatens to burst. 

 And it _does—_ because Ham can suddenly open his eyes, and when he does the sight that his mess-of-a-mind managed to cook up follows the swine into the _real_  world. Except this time what Ham sees, is _far more_ graphic.

 The wail that exits the pig is loud, and his legs suddenly give out. 

 Ham falls to the ground. He’s shivering, completely inconsolable — he hears a faint murmuring that seems to surround him. It causes the hysterical swine to curl in more on himself, his hands gripping at his head and fingers ever so slightly digging into the pink flesh. There’s a little sting, and he latched onto it.

 Anything to erase the image burned into his mind — an image of mangled limbs, with clothing that’s torn in various places, revealing a malicious red. He’s sure he saw a bit of white flash from deep within the red.

 The _same_ red that stains the ground Ham’s curled up on—

 At this realization, the panicking pig manages to find his footing — barely. As a sour taste he never noticed before on his tongue increases, Ham scrambles about before the fact that he’s practically blocked in every direction manages to push through the craze he’s experiencing. 

 His response is reasonable, given the swine’s current state of mind. At least, making a mad dash to run between the multiple pairs of legs around him _seemed_ like a smart and reasonable decision. Though of course, it really wasn’t, as a pair of small arms scoop Ham up and into a secure hold. He sees the bare skin, and it’s stained a light shade of red—

  _Red._

His arms and legs are flailing, and the swine thrashes in the surprisingly strong hold. Ham can hear his own whimpers sounding out, and it fuels the adrenaline rushing through him as the color ‘red’ repeats over and over and _over_  in his mind.

 Because of that, it doesn’t occur to the struggling swine that he could use cartoon logic and whatnot to escape—

 And then, the world around the hysterical pig goes dark.

* * *

 

 Ham wakes with a racing heart.

 Something cold washes over the frantic swine, who’s breathing is unstable. 

  _Just a dream—_ he thinks to himself with a sharp inhale, fingers gripping something rough.

 Rough...?

 Ham’s heart seems to come to a complete stop, before sinking as he looks down and catches sight of what he holds. It’s made out of leather, the color and inky-black aside from a few bits of grey. 

 What Ham holds is a trench coat. 

 The most noticeable thing about said coat, is the large amount of tears and holes. 

 And then there’s that small, almost undetectable smell of copper or iron — it would without a doubt have to come in second place, as the most noticeable thing in Ham’s opinion.

 Ham’s grip on the coat weakens, before tightening. He wants to throw the thing far away, perhaps even out the window— yet at the same time the swine wants to bury into the fabric and never let go.

  _You should go._

No— not again. Ham’s eyes dart around, and he shivers as the same voice from his less-than-pleasant dream whispers the same thing as before. He waits for the voice to speak up again, in that painful rasp. What the swine ends up hearing though, has him choking down on a pathetic whimper.

_Fine. But don’t expect me to be gone for long, mister._

His own response, to the detective’s plead echoed in Ham’s ears. 

 The group of words Ham wishes he never uttered.

 The last set of words he ever told the detective, Noir.

 Ham finds himself burying into the coat, letting the fabric muffle his cries as the longing in his chest rears its ugly head — calling out for the comforting mixture of warmth and cold that came with the touch he missed.  

  _Fine. But don’t expect me to be gone for long, mister._

_F **i** ne, but d **on’** t expec **t me to b** e g **on** e fo **r**  lon **g—**_

_**Fi** ne. But d **o** n’ **t expec** t me—_

_~~Fi **ne.**~~ **B** ~~ **u** t d—~~_

_~~**Fi** N **e.**~~ _

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm... Hope Ham wasn’t tOo outta character q-q. I apologize for any typos/etc, and I hope you enjoyed this or whatever.

**Author's Note:**

> I doubt anyone’s gonna like what the ending is lmao. Sorry this was so short— this damn plot ‘n whatnot has been so— fRustraTing. Snort lol. I apologize for any grammar/etc issues, before I continue on with the final chapter of this I’ll be goin’ back and editing the previous works ‘n shit I’ve done because uh.. I swear there were probably so many typos/etc (coughlikeusing’you’re’insteadof’your’causeimanidiotlmaocough)


End file.
